


Break

by Natasha_Rostova



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, Gen, Kinda, Light Angst, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natasha_Rostova/pseuds/Natasha_Rostova
Summary: Maitimo.Maitimo.The name haunts him.





	Break

It’s the first morning in weeks Nelyafinwë has been left alone.

The room is quiet and empty. No bustling healers who touch and pry, no over concerned siblings and best friends who shelter and sooth. Treating him as a piece made from glass. Hiding the past thirty years from him. Hiding their own torment to tend to his. Without their watchful eyes, Nelyafinwë can attempt to move freely. 

The mirror.

Since his arrival, the mirror placed on his vanity had been covered by a dark sheet. Makalaurë had said they covered the entire room in sheets and blankets after he left, just to keep everything dust free. 

Liar. 

Liar. 

Liar. 

Just another lie. Another way to hide. Not anymore. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

With a deep breath in, Nelyafinwë pushes himself to a sitting position. His muscles burn in protest. He shifts to the side of the bed, allowing his feet to touch the floor. These simple movements cause his stitches rip and pull. The healer was not going to be pleased. 

Leaning on his bed frame for support, Nelyafinwë moves himself up to a standing position. His legs shake and wobble. As he shifts and tries to stand alone, another stitch pops. Slowly red spreads and leaks onto his chest bandage. Despite the warm burning sensation that follows, Nelyafinwë ignores it. There is only a few moments before his brothers returned. Holding his arm to his chest as best he can, Nelyafinwë stumbles over to the hidden vanity. 

In a fluid motion, he uses his remaining hand to rip the sheet from the mirror. 

It is barely light out, the sun just rising over the mountain peaks. Yet in the dim light of his room, Nelyafinwë can see everything.

Maitimo.

Maitimo.

Well shaped one.

His nose bridge had been displaced, the cartilage slightly bent in the middle. Leaning closer to the mirror, Nelyafinwë sighs and traces the crooked lines. In Thangorodrim he had been unable to reflect over his appearance. There was no time, not to mention no mirrors. Besides his cloudy reflection in pools of water, his newfound appearance was largely unknown. He had always felt the scars however, and built a mental reflection. How he underestimated the damage.

He was familiar of the large scar across his left eye, how could he not be? It severely limited his vision, almost to the point of blindness. Almost. The claw mark stemming from his right jaw never seemed to hinder him too much and the large scar spread across his neck made breathing and swallowing painful, yet he had grown used to the feeling. How little he had thought of these things and his appearance until now. Yet, seeing these scars now,

How revolting.

Neyo had entirely forgotten about the scar above his eyebrow. And his left eye looked much worse than he thought. The scar span from his cheek bone to hairline, not that he could see it that well anyways. 

Ugh.

When had he become so vain? Nothing like this had bothered him before. 

Yet.

Maitimo.

Maitimo.

Maitimo.

The name kept doing circles in his head. Drowning him in some sick sense of nostalgia. Every time someone called him Maitimo he remembered another scar. The “Well shaped one” with a crooked nose. It bothers him more than it should.

Without thinking and in a sharp movement, Nelyafinwë lifts his hand to his nose, and with all his strength, slams the bridge back into place.

To anyone else, the crack would have been sickening. Yet Nelyafinwë had heard the crack of bone and cartilage too many times to count. He didn’t even flinch. Blood quickly pours from his nose, dipping and pooling onto the vanity and his hand. How petty of him. Yet, he couldn’t regret it. He looked more like his mother again. 

“I brought you some more blankets in case-“ Makalaurë. He drops the sheets and rushes to Nelyafinwë “what happened? Are you alright? Please tell me you’re alright. Did you open a stitch or-“ 

“I’m fine,” Nelyafinwë runs a gentle hand down his restored nose bridge. “Much better now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Super quick fic! I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head!  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Make sure to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed! I love hearing feedback from you guys!


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